On Mt. Snowfall there lives a naked worm—

His belly is white but his back is pitch-dark.

In his both hands he holds only two precepts:

One tells of the straight and narrow pathway,

Another is about the curved and devious route.

At home he sets up neither hearth nor stove—

His species get never together around his pot.

Walking about, he wears no pants; his body

Is covered with no cloak. Mastering diligently

His Sword of Wisdom, he strives to entice,

Entrap, separate and then cut into pieces

All vexing vermin that bore a huge wormhole

In his good creature which knows no remorse.